


white & light blue

by foxholecourts



Category: Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Shirtgate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxholecourts/pseuds/foxholecourts
Summary: Callum wasn't usually this forgetful, but all of the stress and chaos surrounding the closing of the season had affected him a bit more than he would like to admit. That and the fact that no one had thought to inform him about the prize giving ceremony being within hours of the final race.(or; my take on the infamous shirtgate, because apparently motorsport is a romantic comedy)
Relationships: Callum Ilott/Mick Schumacher
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	white & light blue

"What do you mean you don't have a shirt?"

Marcus was looking at Callum like he'd just told him Ferrari had bagged a 1-2 at the Sakhir quali instead of the slightly less surprising case of Callum not having his shit in order.

Callum rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

"What I just said. I didn't bring any nice shirts with me." 

He wasn't usually _this_ forgetful, but all of the stress and chaos surrounding the closing of the season had affected him a bit more than he would like to admit. That and the fact that no one had thought to inform him about the prize giving ceremony being within hours of the final race. 

"Mate," Marcus started, no doubt about to give him shit, but then cut himself off. Instead he held up his hand as if to say Callum was a lost cause, which he would take offense to if not for it getting Marcus off his back, and checked his watch.

"Alright. We have about 30 minutes to get you looking somewhat decent for the ceremony." Marcus paced the width of his driver's room, apparently taking this very seriously.

Callum raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I could just wear the team polo?", he offered.

Marcus leveled him with a pointed look to his current appearance. He was still in his racing suit, having zipped the top part down and tied it around his waist to cool down a little. 

"I did bring pants," he protested. In spite of popular belief, he wasn't completely clueless.

Marcus, always the dramatic, pinched the bridge of his nose. " _Mate_. You can't accept the second place trophy in a _team polo_."

Now Callum was the one to hold his hands up. "Okay, okay, I get your point. Can you please just lend me one of your shirts so we can get on with it?"

"If I brought a shirt I would have given it to you by now," Marcus replied, frowning in thought. "It's back at the hotel."

Callum groaned, the reality of the situation settling in. He flopped down on one of the plastic chairs. He'd never particularly minded embarrassing himself, but he'd really rather not do it on live TV and during one of the most important moments of his junior career.

He shifted his gaze back to Marcus, who had stopped pacing and was now stood in the middle of the room typing away on his phone.

"Don't really think this is the time to reply to your DMs, mate," Callum spoke up. "I'm kind of in a crisis at the moment."

Marcus ignored his comment and shoved his phone in Callum's face. "I'm getting you a shirt, dickhead."

Callum squinted to make out the words on the screen, Marcus not very concerned with keeping his hand steady.

 _CALLUM NEEDS DRESS SHIRT ASAP!!!!_ , the screen read, followed by a bunch of red siren and SOS emojis. The text was sent in the group chat they had with most of the other drivers on the grid. Some of them had already replied, but the messages mostly consisted of laughing emojis and jokes at Callum's expense. 

He gave Marcus a deadpan stare. "That's your big plan?" He turned the phone around in Marcus' hand. "We're getting nowhere with these idiots," he sighed, no real venom behind the words.

"Aht!" Marcus held his finger up. "So far all you've done is complain and mope in your chair." (He couldn't argue with that). "Surely one of the guys has a spare shirt lying 'round."

They waited for some more replies to roll in for a couple minutes in comfortable silence, and just as Callum was about to start looking for his polo, Marcus sat up straight in his seat.

His eyes flickered from left to right on his phone screen, smirk widening by the second.

"Well?", Callum asked impatiently. The clock on the wall only gave 18 minutes until he needed to be ready.

" _I brought a few extra shirts with me. I'm in my driver's room for another few minutes if Callum wants to borrow one_ ," Marcus read aloud. "From _Mick_." He emphasized the German's name with intent, something Callum really didn't have time to think about right now.

"Great!" He clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "Thanks, man. I owe you one." 

"Oh, you owe me big time," Marcus grinned, that same mischievous look in his eye.

He turned left out of Marcus' room, only just catching Marcus' "Don't forget about the ceremony, Ilott!" through the closing door. He was glad Marcus couldn't see the way his face flushed and made a mental note to consider the implications of his friend's behavior later.

He speed walked through the paddock, zigzagging around the many people making their way to the podium to watch the ceremony. He felt like a bit of a prick for not saying hi when a few team members he regularly chatted with spotted him, but now that he had a solution to his problem he wasn't about to waste it on small talk. 

It certainly didn't hurt that it was Mick he was headed to, either.

Luckily the Prema building wasn't too far, and soon enough he was stood in front of a door reading _Mick 20_. His hands felt a bit clammy, but he blamed it on the Bahrain air, even though he knew better.

"It's just a shirt," he mumbled.

He knocked twice.

After a moment the door swung open, and he was met with the polite smile Mick was usually wearing.

"Hi Callum," he said, stepping to the side to let him in.

"Hi," Callum replied, feeling off balance at the sight of the driver.

He stepped into Mick's room, coming to a halt in the middle of the small space. None of the driver's rooms were particularly big, but at least Mick had managed to keep his tidy. He suddenly felt glad Mick didn't come to his or Marcus' room to lend him a shirt. 

He turned around to find Mick watching him from where he stood against the door. Not surprisingly, he was already ready to go, dressed in a fancy white shirt that looked about ready to burst off his torso. God. He hoped the heat he felt in his cheeks didn't show.

"Erm. I need a shirt," he said dumbly.

Mick huffed out a laugh, his eyes crinkling and making him look even more disgustingly handsome than usual. "I know." He motioned behind Callum and crossed the room.

Callum turned back around to find two dress shirts draped over the massage bed, a white and a light blue one.

"As you can see I'm wearing white," Mick said, leaning against the massage bed and gesturing to himself. "But you can pick either one."

Callum pretended to think it over. "I _have_ been told I look dazzling in white, but I suppose stealing the spotlight of an F2 champion wouldn't be the smartest career move," he grinned, relieved to be able to divert the attention from the bundle of nerves he became whenever he was around Mick.

"I really don't mind," Mick said earnestly, brows furrowed a little. 

He held back a sigh. Mick being quite possibly the sweetest person Callum had ever met didn't much help his plan to ignore all of his feelings until they went away. 

"I know you don't," he smiled, tapping Mick's foot with his own. "I look better in blue anyway."

He grabbed the blue shirt off the bed and, without thinking, started taking off the top half of his undersuit. Due to his head getting tangled in the tight material in the process of removing it, he missed the way Mick's face flushed red. 

When he'd managed to struggle his way out, Mick was busying himself with his bag on the other side of the room, his back to Callum.

"Are you leaving tonight already?", he asked, pointing to the packed bag when Mick just stared at him blankly.

"Uh, no, no I'm not," he replied, snapping out of whatever trance he was in.

Callum put the dress shirt on over his shoulders and checked himself out in his phone camera, pulling it closed with his free hand. It was a little big, Mick's build way broader than Callum's, who had always felt himself to be sort of twig-like, but he looked at least somewhat decent, as Marcus would say.

"Are you?"

"Hm?" Callum pocketed his phone and started on the daunting task of buttoning the shirt up. Damn his sweaty hands.

"Are you leaving tonight?"

Oh, right. _Dialogue_ , Callum. Not that hard.

"Nah, not until tomorrow afternoon," he replied, fingers slipping off the second button. "It would be the perfect opportunity to get absolutely pissed tonight, if not for Covid."

He'd practically begged Marcus to have celebratory drinks with him after the ceremony, but the Kiwi had refused on grounds of an early flight out of Bahrain tomorrow. 

Mick hummed at that, although Callum suspected he wouldn't have gone out even if Covid restrictions weren't a thing. 

When he didn't succeed at closing the button on the fifth try, he let out a frustrated groan. His phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling 10 minutes to go. He looked up at Mick, who was watching him with a mix of bemusement and something Callum couldn't decipher.

"Should I just go like this then?" He spread his arms wide to give a clear view of the state he was in. He'd only managed to fasten a single button at the bottom of the shirt.

Mick snorted and looked at him like he was deciding something, then strode over to stand in front of Callum.

He cleared his throat. "Here."

Callum held his breath as Mick started buttoning his shirt up with ease, the distance between them too small, too intimate. Almost subconsciously, his eyes fell shut, as if his body refused to believe that this wasn't some sort of fever dream. He quickly forced them open again. He wasn't about to miss the closest he would probably ever get to Mick.

He was a lot of things, but he didn't yet think himself stupid, and so he took the opportunity to study Mick's face. 

His eyes were trained on where he was fastening the buttons, eyebrows knitted in concentration. Callum bit back a smile. Just like Mick to take even the smallest of tasks as seriously as he would the championship. A slight hint of pink was showing through his cheeks. Probably from the heat in the driver's room, Callum supposed. They weren't air-conditioned all that well anyway.

His gaze drifted down towards his lips, which seemed to be permanently shaped into a gracious smile. It would be quite annoying if not for Callum knowing it was a real one, at least most of the time. Still, a part of him wondered what he would look like angry. His thoughts usually only strayed into that territory when it was late and he was alone and horny in his hotel room, though, so he quickly shoved the thought back down.

Mick's jaw was tightly set, he noticed, but he didn't really know what to make of it. When he lifted his gaze back up to his eyes, they were looking right back at him. 

"Done," Mick said, the smile still on his face.

Shit. Callum sent out a quick prayer that Mick hadn't noticed him staring.

He forced himself to take a small step back and looked down at the shirt. Mick had left the top two buttons unbuttoned, leaving quite a big part of his chest showing.

He raised his eyebrow at Mick. "You letting me go out dressed like a slag, Schumacher?"

Mick laughed a little, but it was clear he was more amused by Callum's banter than that he actually understood what he meant. Ever the gentleman, Callum was happy to explain.

"A slut. A whore. A harlot."

He really shouldn't find Mick's eyes widening with every synonym so funny, but he'd never claimed to be above corrupting the purehearted.

He let out a cackle that was part laugh, part nerves, and bumped Mick with his shoulder.

"You're lucky I don't mind," he quipped. "Just don't be mad when the camera is on me the entire time."

Mick was about to say something when his phone pinged. "Ah, we need to get going." He flipped his phone to show Callum the time: five minutes left until the ceremony.

Callum silently cursed the passage of time. They had been traveling together all season, but he could count the times they'd been alone together on one hand. He watched as Mick checked his pockets for his belongings and headed for the door, the unmistakable _Deutsche Vermögensberatung_ text and logo settled into its usual place on his head.

"Are you keeping your cap on?", Callum blurted out, mentally berating himself for not having a filter.

Mick turned back, already halfway through the door. He opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to notice something and smirked. "Are you keeping your pants on?"

With that, he turned around and left Callum alone in his room.

"Keeping my pants on?", Callum asked the door. He looked down at himself once again and was confronted with his racing suit still tied around his waist.

Christ. Maybe he was stupid after all.

He was getting quite sick of his cheeks heating up, but he counted his blessings and thanked whatever greater power there was that Mick didn't stick around to see his reaction.

He practically sprinted back across the paddock to his own room and tore his suit off, crumpling it up and unceremoniously throwing it in a corner, taking care not to wrinkle Mick's shirt in the process. His phone buzzed four times in a row, most likely Marcus demanding his whereabouts. He ignored it and stepped into his black jeans, switching his racing shoes for a pair of white sneakers. 

He shot the mirror a quick look, making a face at the shape his worn down shoes were in. It would have to do.

"Mate, what took you so long? I nearly convinced them to start without you," Marcus shouted in his ear when he stumbled into the waiting area. 

"Remind me why I invited you to come with again?", Callum shot back easily, although a little out of breath, and looked around the room.

Several staff members were waiting near the door leading to the podium, restlessly checking their watches and talking rapidly into walkie-talkies. One of them noticed Callum's arrival and visibly exhaled in relief. Oops.

As he had expected, Yuki and Mick were already present and exchanging small talk across from where Marcus and himself were standing.

"Because I'm the only one who can make this any fu-- hey, you found a shirt!", Marcus was saying, Callum only half paying attention.

As most times, he was focused on Mick, who, unlike most times, took note of him watching and met his gaze. His eyes flickered down to his change of pants and then crinkled as he met his gaze once more. Callum selfishly cursed the FIA for daring to cover up Mick's face with a mask. On the upside, it meant Callum could blush all he wanted without anyone noticing. He grinned back at him under his mask, trusting his eyes to show his smile.

Yuki followed where Mick was looking to Callum and waved him over. "Hi Callum!"

Callum interrupted whatever Marcus was saying by dragging him along. 

"Hey guys. Sorry for keeping you waiting," he said mostly to Yuki.

Yuki shook his head. "No worries. Hi Marcus."

Marcus, being the snake he was, jumped at the opportunity to inform Yuki all about Callum's unpreparedness when it came to prize giving ceremonies. Callum pretended to be exasperated, and he would have been if he didn't think forgetting to bring a nice shirt was the best mistake he'd ever made.

He allowed himself a glance at Mick, who seemed content to watch Marcus' exaggerated storytelling and listen to Yuki's questions in between. For the second (possibly third - Callum really hoped he didn't have to count him staring at Mick when he was buttoning up his shirt) time today, Mick noticed him looking and peered up at him from his seat.

"I like these pants better than the suit thing you had going on earlier," he said. Next to them, Marcus was gesturing wildly, wrapped up in his explanation to Yuki.

Callum made an oof-noise. "Is that what you call a compliment?" He put his hand over his heart in fake hurt. "You wound me."

The corners of Mick's eyes creased a bit, and he lightly shook his head. "You look really nice," he said softly, just for Callum to hear.

Proving his point about masks, Callum felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He hadn't expected Mick to actually compliment him, and his mental list of possible retorts was suddenly painfully empty. 

He was saved by a member of staff walking up to address the four of them. 

"The ceremony is about to start. Please follow me to the podium," she said, looking at Marcus like she didn't quite know what to do with him. 

"Don't worry, he's not coming with us," Callum assured her, the woman shooting him a grateful look.

Marcus, on the other hand, thanked him by kicking him in the shin. 

"Ow, you twat!", Callum hissed at him, giving him a light shove in return. "I'm definitely not bringing you next time." 

"Pfft. Next time _I_ won't be bringing _you_ , you mean," Marcus said with confidence. He pushed him towards the door, Mick and Yuki already following the staff member up the stairs. "Now go be vice champion and all that."

Vice champion. He liked the sound of that. Callum grinned at him from over his shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. "Yeah, yeah."

The ceremony passed without anyone asking about his choice of clothing, which he counted as a win. He himself could practically feel Mick's name branded all over his upper body. The interviewer asked Mick about Callum and Callum about Mick, and they both politely complimented each other, as was expected of them. But Callum meant every word, and somehow he knew Mick did, too.

Like much of FIA's events, the ceremony came with an obligatory photo shoot. He didn't much enjoy getting his picture taken, but at least on this occasion he got to chat to Mick in between sessions. Mick, on the other hand, was a natural, obediently following the photographer's directions and giving him that championship-winning smile Callum spent a little too much time thinking about.

"Alright guys, you can take five. I need to change some settings," the photographer said to Callum's delight.

Mick stepped out of the LED lights and strolled over to where Callum was leaning against the track barrier, trophy glued to his hand. Callum understood him perfectly. He wasn't letting his own trophy out of his sight any time soon, either.

"A few more shots and then we're good to go, probably," Mick remarked, setting his trophy down on the gravel next to Callum's. 

Mick would never admit to it, not one to complain, but Callum could see he was tired. He felt it, too. The adrenaline from the race had started wearing off, albeit the prize giving ceremony dragging it out a little longer than usual.

Still, he didn't want today's celebrations to end just yet. 

"Speaking of shots," he started, noticing the way Mick's eyes narrowed a bit, accompanying the smile that was most likely forming beneath his mask.

"Is Prema doing anything at all tonight? Celebratory wise, I mean."

Mick shook his head. "No party. They're really strict on following the regulations."

"Ugh." Callum threw his head back in dramatic fashion. "This is so BORING," he shouted to the sky. A few members of the crew looked his way, but that was nothing he wasn't used to. Plus, it was worth the chuckle Mick let out.

He knew he shouldn't complain, and he really didn't mind _that_ much, but he wouldn't have minded a good old party in his honor, either. He turned back to the man beside him.

"What are you doing tonight, then?", he asked, immediately cringing at how much it sounded like a blatant come-on.

Thankfully, Mick didn't seem to take notice, and shrugged. "Finish packing my bags, I think? And then sleep," he said a little sheepishly.

Man. If Mick wasn't Mick, he'd be really dull.

Callum gently elbowed him in the side, unable to resist teasing him. "You're a _world champion_. You deserve to celebrate a little."

Now that he thought about it, Mick's idea of celebrating was probably an extra hour in the gym. He grimaced at the thought. 

Mick just shrugged again, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

A pleasant silence fell between them. Callum observed the photographer give directions to his crew, lighting being moved around and the angles changed. He could hear the sounds of teams packing up in the background and felt a pang of guilt for not being there to help, but more than one mechanic had threatened him with violence if he showed up tonight. Given the fact that most of the mechanics looked like they spent more time working out than he did, he'd rather not take his chances.

"I'm happy it was you I was racing against," Mick said suddenly, cutting through his thoughts and looking straight at him. "If you'd have won, I would have been happy for you."

Callum was thankful there was a barrier supporting him, because he might have fallen backwards otherwise, Mick's unexpected admission hitting him like a blow to the gut. His mouth felt dry.

"Tha-- uh, thanks man," he forced out, willing his voice to come out steadily. It only half worked. "I'm really happy for you." He meant it.

"Thank you," Mick replied, looking at him in the same unreadable way he had done in the driver's room.

Callum swallowed. The hot Bahrain air between them felt infinitely more oppressive. "You're welcome."

For a split second, Mick leaned against him, their upper arms exchanging body heat, and then he was gone, rejoining the photographer for the last pictures of the night.

Callum hadn't even registered him being called back.

**********

Mick roughly moved the towel backwards and forwards over his head, drying his hair until there was only a little dampness left. One thing he'd always liked about hotels was the ultra soft towels that had gotten more luxurious the more he moved up in his career. He didn't think they could get any softer than the one he was using now, but that was one thing he wouldn't mind being proven wrong about.

He dropped it on the bathroom floor and stepped into his black Under Armour® joggers. Not being required anywhere else tonight, he made his way to the seating area of the over-sized hotel room Prema had provided him with and flopped down to watch some TV. 

Fatigue was creeping into every inch of his body, the past day somehow flying by and yet feeling like the longest 16-something hours of his life, but his mind was more awake than ever. He had been replaying what he'd blurted out to Callum on a loop ever since he got back from the photo shoot.

Playing it back again, a flash of annoyance shot through him. Why did he always have to make it weird? Callum was a good friend and the best rival he could have wished for, always pushing him but never crossing the line. If Mick had started to feel something more than friendship for the Brit somewhere along the way, that was his problem to deal with, not Callum's. 

He turned his attention to the TV screen. He just needed to forget about it until he got back to Switzerland and wasn't confronted with Callum, well, being _Callum_ every day. He could do that.

Zapping through the late night programs for a while succeeded in getting his mind off things, his only straying thoughts about clinching the title, which he suspected wouldn't stop making his skin buzz for the foreseeable future.

Just as he was about to get up and get ready to go to bed, his phone pinged in a way that he embarrassingly recognized as Callum's notification sound. His heart sped up a little at the sound, apparently intent on demonstrating that he could, in fact, not forget about it. He sighed in deference and checked his phone.

**Callum · 22:53**  
i don't think i've ever been this bored in my life🥱

  
  
For all of his determination to put his feelings to the side, he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. He thought on his reply for a bit, then started typing.

**Mick · 22:55**  
Including the FDA meeting last year?

Callum's response was instant.

**Callum · 22:55**  
including the fda meeting last year.

Mick was about to give his sympathies when the three dots that indicated Callum was typing popped up.

**Callum · 22:56**  
me and marcus already raided the mini bar last week so i don't even have alcohol to celebrate :(

That gave Mick an idea. A very, very bad idea, but an idea nonetheless. He locked his phone and inspected his own room's mini bar from where he was sat on the couch. It was still stocked to the brim with various drinks and snacks. Mick hadn't so much looked at it all week. 

He took a breath, thinking it over. 

If nothing else, he would just be supplying alcohol to someone in need, like any good friend would. It didn't mean anything. He was fully aware that he could just text Callum goodnight and go to bed, probably saving himself a lot more complicated feelings, but he'd already made his decision as soon as the idea had crossed his mind.

He pushed himself off the couch and grabbed one of the bags he hadn't yet packed. To what surely would be Callum's disappointment, the fridge didn't contain much hard liquor, mostly different kinds of beer and a mini-sized wine bottle. He left the wine and stuffed as many bottles into the bag as he could without risking appearing like a complete drunk.

Patting his pockets to check for his room key and phone, he stopped in front of the door to the hallway and turned around to look at the room, as if someone would step into view to convince him to stay.

But it was just him, and so he crossed the threshold of his room and pulled the door closed behind him.

The way the teams were spread over the hotel made it so Callum's room was one floor above his, so he made his way to the staircase, his slides squeaking with each step. He attempted to come up with what to say when (or if) Callum opened the door, but his nervous stride meant he was stood in front of room 412 way sooner than he could think of something.

He waited in front of the door for about 20 seconds like he could summon Callum with his thoughts alone, his jittery hand bumping the bag against his leg. 

_It's just some beer_ , he thought.

He knocked twice.

A few moments passed, in which Mick considered all of the ways this was a horrible idea, and then there was some shuffling on the other side of the door, the sound of a lock being unlocked.

"Mick," Callum said, clearly surprised. And still wearing Mick's shirt.

He forced his eyes up. Callum was looking at him with some concern, his hair a mess, which did nothing to help Mick's attempts at acting like a normal human being who was very much not in love with his friend slash rival. 

"Hi." He presented the contents of the bag. "I have alcohol."

Now that he was actually in the moment, his breakthrough idea felt quite stupid.

Callum didn't seem to think so, as he let out a high pitched cackle, clapped his hands together and dragged him inside.

"You're amazing, d'you know that?", Callum said, laughter bubbling over his lips. He closed the door behind Mick and shooed him further inside the hotel room.

Mick had to stop his eyes from bulging when he saw the state Callum's room was in. Clothes were discarded all over the floor and furniture, and the latter had somehow been rearranged to a whole different layout.

"Thank you very much," Callum interrupted his thoughts, and snatched the bag from his hand. "Now, let's see what you've brought."

He took the bottles from the bag and placed them on the counter of the kitchenette one by one, counting them out loud.

"And six. Not bad, Schumacher, not bad," he said appreciatively. 

Mick was still stood in the middle of the room, feeling uncomfortable for no other reason than the fact he hadn't been alone with Callum yet, at least not at nighttime, which somehow made a world's difference.

Callum seemed to notice and motioned him closer, rummaging through the drawers for a bottle opener.

"They're all yours. You don't have to share with me, I mean," Mick rushed out.

The other man waved his words away ("None of that") and after a moment held the object of his search in the air triumphantly. "Aha!" He swiftly opened two bottles and handed one to Mick, settling against the counter, Mick leaning against the opposite one.

Not quite knowing what else to do besides drink, Mick put the bottle to his lips. Before he could take a swig, though, Callum's hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Hey! Don't you know it's unlucky to drink before you've made a toast?", he said, head cocked slightly to the side.

Mick cleared his throat, choking a little on the beer that had slipped down his windpipe from the sudden movement. 

"What are we toasting to?", he asked, unable to look Callum in the eye for long periods of time with his hand still holding his wrist. 

Callum released him and leaned back a little, considering.

He smiled a minuscule smile and held his bottle out. "To the best competition I could have asked for."

Mick's heart hammered a steady rhythm in his throat. "To the best competition I could have asked for," he repeated, his voice catching a little on the final word. 

They clinked their bottles together, Mick somehow finding the nerve to maintain eye contact, and each took a swig. 

He couldn't resist taking in the sight of his dress shirt framing Callum's torso. He looked _good_ in it, a pleasant change from the sponsor-branded polos and racing gear they were usually wearing. Not to say that those didn't make him look hot, too, but the fact that he was wearing _Mick's_ shirt made a wave of possessiveness swirl in the pit of his stomach. 

He tried not to think too hard about what it meant that Callum had changed into sweatpants, and yet had kept the dress shirt on. Maybe he'd just been in the process of getting changed when Mick had knocked on his door. 

"Right, erm, you'll get this back soon, I promise," Callum said, looking like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

Mick pushed down the urge to shake him and tell him that he wanted nothing more than to see him wear his clothes forever. 

"Keep it," he said instead, "Like you said, it looks better on you anyway."

"When I said that, I was comparing it to the white shirt, not you," Callum protested, taking another swig of his beer. He grinned. "But I won't disagree."

Mick's own beer was turning lukewarm in the palm of his hand, but he didn't mind, not liking the taste of beer that much anyway. He was perfectly happy just to watch Callum get tipsy.

"You know," Callum said, two bottles later, "I thought I'd be really sad if I lost the championship."

They'd fallen into easy conversation, talking about their lives at home, the championship, and what was next. Now, Mick shifted against the counter, not used to Callum letting him look past his witty exterior.

"And it sucks. But I'm not sad," he continued, blinking.

"Why not?", Mick prompted, the need to peel another layer off the Callum-shaped onion too big now that Callum had opened the door for him.

Callum stayed silent for a minute, looking at the cabinet next to Mick's face like it would give him the answer. Mick didn't miss how he was chewing on his bottom lip, brows knitted, his grip tight around his bottle. 

Finally, he sighed. 

"Because it's you who I lost to," he mumbled, looking down, then to the side, everywhere but at Mick.

Mick could do nothing but stare at him in return, the beer bottle starting to slide from his grip. He was acutely aware of how close they were to each other, the narrow kitchenette area only leaving a couple feet between them. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then opened it again, thoughts slipping from his mind as soon as they came to him. 

Callum beat him to it. "You're just so... _great_. All the time," he said to Mick's chest. "It's horrible." His cheeks were a deep pink, matching the heat Mick felt in his own face.

He knew Callum must hear his heart pounding away in his chest, the hotel room having fallen silent but for their breathing. 

"You are, too," he said, physically pushing the words out of his throat before he could back out. 

At this, Callum met his eye, looking at him intently as if searching for something in his expression. His lips were slightly parted, perhaps a question waiting to be spoken aloud. Whatever he found, it was enough to make a decision.

"Fuck it," he breathed, roughly setting his bottle down behind him and stepping into Mick's space.

Mick sucked in a breath, eyes flying from Callum's lips to his eyes and back. He barely had time to process what was happening before Callum closed the distance between them.

He'd imagined it a hundred times over, but none of those times could have prepared him for the real thing. Callum's lips were slightly chapped and moving gently against his, exploring the new territory. He had his hand splayed on Mick's chest, certainly feeling his heartbeat now.

Mick, eyes firmly shut, felt him set his other hand tentatively on his hip, the antithesis of the bold exterior he'd grown accustomed to. He kissed him back slowly, hands balled into fists at his side to keep them from shaking. He felt like his whole body was on vibrate. Callum moved his hand up to cup his jaw and started to deepen the kiss, before somewhat abruptly pulling back a little. 

Mick opened his eyes to find Callum red-faced and only a few inches from his own.

"Is this okay?"

Mick swallowed and nodded fervently, not trusting his voice to come out evenly. 

A flash of relief appeared and disappeared on Callum's face. He looked down at Mick's hands and for a second his mouth twitched into that familiar smirk.

"You can touch me, y'know," he said, a little breathless.

Callum's deep voice combined with the somewhat late realization that he was allowed to touch him made the hairs on the back of Mick's neck stand up. 

"Right," he breathed in reply, eyes involuntarily dropping to Callum's mouth. 

Callum, taking the hint, tilted Mick's head back by his jaw and kissed him more deeply this time, sliding his tongue along his bottom lip and then into his mouth when he parted his lips. Mick let Callum take the lead, too out of sorts to make any type of coordinated movement. 

The beer bottle, useless in his hand, clinked against the counter as he halfheartedly tried to hold himself up, his legs turned to jelly. He blindly placed it somewhere behind him, not caring if he was spilling beer everywhere. His other hand held a death grip on the edge of the counter while he buried his now-free hand into Callum's hair. 

The small parts of his body where he was touching Callum - his hand in Callum's hair, Callum's hands on his jaw and hip - felt like they were on fire, and they hadn't even taken their clothes off yet. His dick twitched in his pants at the possibilities of what was to come. He needed to calm down, the rational part of his brain warning him to take it slow, but it was kind of hard to think straight with Callum's tongue down his throat.

He abandoned the counter he was holding onto for support in favor of wrapping his arm around Callum's lower back and pulling him close, only barely feeling the edge of the counter digging into his back. He may have been embarrassed about the state he was in if not for Callum being already half hard against him. They gasped into each other's mouths at the contact, and any lingering hesitation that he felt was promptly swept from his mind. 

"Off," Callum panted, pushing Mick's hoodie up and grinding his hips against him.

The increased contact had him only barely coherent enough to register what Callum was getting at. He broke their kiss to tear his hoodie off over his head while trying to keep the distance between them to a minimum. Callum seemed to have the same idea, because he flung himself at Mick the second his hoodie was off, trying to touch as much of him as possible.

The skin-on-skin contact nearly made Mick's eyes roll back, and all he could think was _more_.

"Christ," Callum said under his breath, running his hands up and down his torso. His pupils were blown wide and he was looking at Mick like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Mick bit on his tongue to stop from moaning as Callum sucked marks on his neck and collarbone in an erratic manner, moving as if they were pressed for time.

He was growing uncomfortably hard in his sweatpants, his dick craving relief. In a rash decision, he slid his hands down to Callum's ass to pull him even closer, his mind a constant mantra of _Callum Callum Callum I can't believe this is happening Callum Callum Callum_.

Callum made a keening sound and changed the angle of his head to messily kiss him on the mouth. The fabric of his shirt was chafing against Mick's stomach, reminding him of Callum's clothed state. The image of him shirtless in Mick's driver's room was still burned into his brain, and he was getting impatient with being the only one with his shirt off as it was.

He dipped his fingers underneath the hem of Callum's ( _his_ , he thought in a daze) shirt, waiting for any sign of objection. When Callum pressed himself impossibly closer to him in response, making Mick's hands push up against his bare stomach, he greedily moved them up to his abs. His exploration was cut short when the shirt pulled tight against him, the loose fit on Callum stretched thin underneath Mick's broad arms.

Callum was one step ahead of him and began pulling his shirt up. Mick was quick to help him drag the material upwards, revealing his toned body. He was much leaner than Mick, but Mick liked that about him, liked the juxtaposition of their bodies beside each other. Callum carelessly discarded the shirt on the floor and fixed him with a hungry look that went straight to his dick.

Feeling beside himself with want, Mick walked them to the other side of the small space and pushed up against Callum, one hand pressing against the point where his neck met his chest, the other snaking down to his sweatpants. He slipped it in his own first and wrapped it around himself to relieve some of the pressure, placing open-mouthed kisses down Callum's neck to make up for it. The lack of space between them made it so his hand moved against Callum, too, eliciting moans from the both of them. Callum being as into this as he was was making his head spin, and he couldn't help but feel like this was one of the best sex dreams he'd ever have. 

He wildly pushed both their pants down, craving more skin-on-skin contact, Callum affirming him with an out of breath _yes_ in his ear. The outline of Callum's dick in his underwear nearly sent him over the edge right then and there. His hips jerked unwittingly against Callum, who looked very much like he was trying not to come himself. Their standing position didn't make for the greatest angle to create friction, and by the sounds Callum was making it was clear they were both growing more frustrated by the second.

He grabbed Callum by the wrists and pushed him backwards out of the kitchenette, kicking his pants and slides off and having enough presence of mind not to trip over them in the process. Callum's joggers were still around his ankles, Mick holding him up the only thing that kept him from falling. They stumbled into the living area, half laying, half falling down onto the nearest sofa. 

Mick sprawled on top of Callum, his elbows braced on either side of his head, one leg in between his thighs. For a second they just laid there breathing, Mick's face hovering over Callum's, taking each other in. But then Callum licked his lips and anything romantic Mick might have said disappeared into thin air. Callum threw his arms around him to bring him back into his space at the same time Mick leaned down to kiss him. It was sloppy and filthy and Mick didn't think he'd ever experience anything better.

Callum made an impatient noise and pushed their groins back together by grabbing Mick's ass and dragging it downwards. The fabric of Mick's boxershort was slightly grating against him, but the contact between them - albeit through two layers of underwear - felt too good to break.

The sensation of Callum's hands all over his skin combined with Callum in nothing but his underwear and making _ah ah ah_ noises beneath him had his climax rising fast. He grinded down two, three times, making obscene sounds into Callum's mouth and he was right on the edge, could already feel the stars behind his eyes. 

_I'm going to come_ , he wanted to tell Callum, but his brain-to-mouth connection wasn't the best during sex. "Callum," he gasped instead, and then he was coming in his underwear, white noise blanking out his mind. He half registered Callum's increasingly rapid rambling of _oh my god Mick you feel so good oh my god_ , too occupied with one of the best orgasms he'd ever had and trying not to collapse onto Callum, until he too was coming undone, nails digging into Mick's back. 

He lowered himself down to squeeze next to Callum on the sofa, their arms pressed against each other. They laid in silence for a minute, coming down from their respective highs. Mick could feel his come drying in his underwear but couldn't bring himself to move, all of his muscles slack and his body feeling twice as heavy in the afterglow. 

After a while Callum moved to lay on his side to face him, looking as blissed out as Mick felt. He placed his hand on Mick's chest, a hesitant smile on his face. 

"I should have borrowed a piece of your clothing way earlier," he spoke into the silence.

They looked at each other for a second, Mick mirroring Callum's smile, then broke into soft laughter, the impossible reality of the night's events catching up to them.

The implication that Callum had been wanting this to happen for a while made his stomach flutter, but he could worry about what tonight meant for them later. For now, he covered Callum's hand with his own and settled comfortably against him, a content sigh slipping from his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please don't publicly share this work outside of ao3, keep it miles away from the people it's about, etc etc :) kudos and comments are very much appreciated!


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